The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows
by littledaybreaker
Summary: Blaine didn't survive the attack after the Sadie Hawkins Dance. Karofsky didn't just threaten Kurt's life, he took it. Dalton isn't a boarding school, it's the afterlife, this is the story of how Blaine Anderson became Kurt Hummel's guardian angel.


AN: I got this idea from Glee's Wild Mass Guessing page on TVTropes, and then sort of modified it to fit my own plot ideas. The idea went as such, "Karofsky didn't only threaten his life. He actually killed him. Blaine is an angel who came into Kurt's life just before he died and is sticking around. Since Kurt transferred to Dalton, only Will and Rachel have seen him while they were alone, and got help from him. No one else saw him with them, so it could be interpreted as them finding solace in the memory of their friend." and the format of that page is such that I can't give credit to the person who came up with the idea, but if it was you, and you want credit (or to yell at me to take this down), make yourself known. I have three planned parts to this story: 01 (Blaine), 02 (Kurt) and 03 (Epilogue).

Both the title and the epigraph are from Brand New songs.

_Well, Jesus Christ, I'm not scared to die_

_I'm a little bit scared of what comes after_

_Do I get the gold chariot, do I float through the ceiling?_

~Brand New, _Jesus_

November 21, 2009

Westerville

A Westerville Central High School student was pronounced dead yesterday morning after a brutal attack following a high school dance left him critically injured.

Blaine Anderson, 15, of Westerville, was attacked by another, unnamed student from his high school while arriving at the school's Sadie Hawkins dance on November 14. Anderson, who was openly gay, attended the dance with a male friend, a decision that had sparked controversy and bullying in the weeks preceding the dance. The attack left Anderson with multiple critical injuries, including broken bones and a brain hemmorhage. His parents, Stephanie and Carl Anderson, made the decision to discontinue life support yesterday after learning that his brain function had decreased significantly.

"He was a good boy," Anderson's mother said in a tearful statement to local news made this morning. "He never wanted to cause trouble or make a scene. He always just wanted to be happy and comfortable with who he was. He was never had a bad word for anybody, always smiling, always willing to help someone in need."

Charges are being laid against the attacker, 16, whose name is not being released to the media. His preliminary hearing is set for this upcoming Tuesday.

It didn't hurt anymore when Blaine opened his eyes, but he didn't recognize his surroundings-a round room, bathed in light, a soft bed with a comfortable pillow beneath his head. Slowly, cautiously, he tested all of his muscles, flexing and relaxing them. There was no pain. He blinked.

There was someone standing over him-another boy, tall, clean-cut, with dark hair and an angular face. He was wearing a blue and red blazer and smiling. Reflexively, Blaine flinched, and the boy laughed. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said gently, extending a hand to him. "I'm Wes. Welcome to Dalton, Blaine."

Warily, Blaine shook his hand. "I've never heard of Dalton," he said suspiciously. "What is it, some kind of rehab facility?"

Wes laughed again, but this time, it seemed, in a way, more pitying. "I suppose you could put it that way," he agreed. "Now that you're here, why don't you get dressed and I can show you around."

Blaine had half a mind to ask more questions, but instead, he scrambled out of bed (it felt like an eternity since it hadn't hurt!), dressing quickly in the clothes at the end of his bed-a uniform, identical to the one that Wes was wearing. His hair was a mess, and he had a serious case of morning breath, but the overall effect was pretty sharp.

"Ready?" Wes asked, rapping on the door.

Blaine pulled it open. "Ready," he echoed, smoothing down one pocket of his blazer.

Wes looked him up and down,grinning. "It looks sharp on you," he declared. "Are you ready for the tour?"

Once again, Blaine hesitated, but eventually nodded. "Yeah," he agreed. "Let's go."

"Great!" Wes, all business, led him down the corridor, pointing out classrooms and gymnasiums, giving him a brief history of each place they stopped at. Finally, when it seemed like there couldn't possibly be any more rooms, they stopped in a large, round room, one with sofas and floor to ceiling bookshelves, packed with sheet music. Blaine stared.

"In case you hadn't figured it out already, you're dead," Wes said conversationally, as if he was remarking on the weather patterns. "And Dalton is your afterlife."

This was enough to make Blaine tear his eyes away from the sheet music, staring instead at Wes. "Sorry?" he said.

"You're dead," Wes repeated. "When Brandon Nolan took you behind the school and beat you up, you died. And this is your afterlife. Dalton is kind of a special place, and only special people get sent here, so you should be happy."

Momentarily, Blaine panicked. "What do you mean, I'm dead? I can't be dead. What about my mom? What about Connor? I can't-I can't be dead. I want to go home. Let me go home!"

Wes put a reassuring hand on Blaine's shoulder. "You can't go home, Blaine, but rest assured that you can check up on your mom and Connor any time you'd like, and know that you're safe here, from all the things that hurt you at home."

Blaine peered curiously at Wes. "You said special people. Does that mean igay/i people? Is everybody here gay?"

Wes laughed. "Not everyone. I'm not. Most of us were sent here after we died because we had a special gift, musically, but it's safe here. No one is going to hurt you here."

At mention of music, Blaine perked up. "I...I love music," he said, a little shyly, trying not to betray his excitement. "I was in a glee club at my other school!"

Wes, once again, was smiling. "That's why we're in this room. This is the Dalton Academy Warblers rehearsal space, and we'd like to invite you to join us."

This was insane. Blaine was half-convinced that he was dreaming, that at any minute, he would wake up, but then again...all he could remember for a seemingly infinite time before had been pain, endless pain, and then there had been blissful nothing. He wasn't sure he believed in in heaven, but that made more sense than any other option he could think of at the moment. "Okay," he agreed, holding his hand out for Wes to shake. "I want to join."

Wes looked delighted. "I'm glad," he said warmly. "Why don't you go get cleaned up for dinner, and you can meet the rest of the club there?"

Blaine nodded, heading back to the room he'd woken up in, humming to himself. If this was what being dead was like, maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

"That boy in Westerville died," Kurt remarked, more to himself than to his father, folding the newspaper and setting it on the table.

"What boy in Westerville?" his father asked, not looking up from his car magazine.

"Blaine Anderson," Kurt read, studying the school picture they attached to the article—a smiling boy in a shirt and tie, his eyes crinkled up with mischief. "He got beaten to death."

That was enough to make his father finally look up from the magazine. "No one is gonna hurt you, Kurt, not if I have anything to say about it."

Kurt nodded, busying himself with getting ready for school and trying to ignore the nervous feeling he had in his chest. His father was mostly right, of course. The bullies at his school were mean, but their repertoire seemed to consist entirely of slushies to the face or tossing him in a dumpster. Murder had probably never crossed their tiny little minds. Nevertheless, he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that this could happen to him. If it could happen to Blaine Anderson, that brilliantly smiling boy, who seemed to radiate through the page a kind of infectious affability, who was to say it couldn't happen to Kurt?

"Blaine, these are the Warblers. Thad, Adam, Ben, David, Michael, Alex, Roan, and Sam. Warblers, this is Blaine, our newest member."

Blaine waved, looking down the table, taking in their faces. It was strange, he thought, knowing they were dead. But then again, so was he, so was it really so strange after all?

"Welcome to Dalton, Blaine," the one Wes had indicated was David said. "It's good to have you here."

Blaine swallowed hard as he shook David's hand, his thoughts drifting to his mother, to Connor. He wanted to go home. "It's good to be here," he said, but his voice didn't even sound convincing to his own ears.

David, however, seemed to understand. "Everybody is scared at first," he said gently, as if it was Blaine's first day of summer camp. "But we'll be good to you, and you're safe here."

The more Blaine heard that, the more unsettled he became, but nevertheless, he settled into the empty seat between Roan and Sam, looking anxiously down the table, offering a little smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Wes told us you would be joining the Warblers," David continued. "We're happy to hear that. We heard all about your musical talents, and we think you will bring great things to our little group."

Blaine turned pink, smiling down at his plate. "Thanks."

"We practice on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons in the music room. The rest of your time can be spent however you like. There are lots of sports and activities, a state of the art library, and of course, the observatory."

"The observatory?" Wes hadn't mentioned an observatory in his tour.

David nodded. "The observatory is where you can look into the world of the living. If you ever feel homesick or scared, you can check in there. But be careful-things change after you die, and it can be upsetting to see your family like that."

Blaine took a deep breath, shifting in his seat. The observatory. He needed to go there. Now. But instead he sat politely, listening to David, eating in relative silence. Once dinner was done, he thanked them again and bolted up from his seat, trying to get to the observatory as fast as possible.

Wes caught him by the arm. "Blaine," he warned. "David is right. You might not be happy with what you see in the observatory."

Blaine was practically shaking. "I need to see my mom," he said softly, his voice sounding pained. "I need to see her."

Wes sighed. "It's on the third floor. The first door on the right. Just, be careful, okay?"

Blaine nodded. "I will," he promised, then turned and bolted.

The observatory turned out to be another round room, much like the dormitory he had woken up in, but it was windowless, completely empty except for a large basin full of crystalline water. Blaine peered into it, and the water shimmered, letters beginning to form. 'Your name,' it requested.

"Blaine Anderson."

'destination, Blaine Anderson?'

Blaine took a deep breath. "I want to see my mother. Please."

The water shifted, parted, and Blaine's mother appeared, sitting in Blaine's bedroom, so clear that Blaine thought that if he wanted, he could reach out and touch her.

She had clutched to her chest the worn green flannel blanket that Blaine kept under his pillow, that he had slept with every night since he was a baby, and she was crying, deep, heaving sobs that wracked her whole body. Blaine watched, horrified, unable to tear his eyes away. Occasionally, it would appear that she was beginning to calm, and she would lift her head, only to be wracked with sobs again.

Horrified, Blaine turned away. She missed him. She was crying. He wanted desperately to go home. After one last look, he turned, running from the room, as fast as he could back toward the dorms. Once he was there, he flung himself on the bed, crying until he fell asleep.

It would be nearly a year before he would return to the observatory.


End file.
